The Mighty Fine Print
by MrHookman
Summary: Years before his meeting with Shilo Wallace, Graverobber is trapped on a collision course with GeneCos finest killers


An island-city built on graves, looming from the ocean like the last bastion of humanity. If this was the highest hopes of man then maybe we would've been better off slipping into the waters and letting another species take our place. The city was rotten, from the catacombs at its foundation to the very top floor of the GeneCo tower, nothing was sacred. We're talking about a city owned and controlled entirely by one man and his psychotic offspring, a city where most of the population hankers after the elusive painkiller called Zydrate, a city where a man can make a living from digging up all those graves and siphoning Zydrate from the dead to sell to those that would soon be dead. That man had no name, or none he wished to share, so the people he sold to gave him one...

A zeppelin passed overhead and the alley was briefly lit up by the screen on its side, advertising the latest GeneCo ocular surgeries. Graverobber stepped away from the light, his lean body hidden in an overlarge leather coat. His latest client covered his eyes, face clammy and one hand clutching his side.

"Come on man" he gasped "Feels like my ribs are ready to burst, just gimme the blue!"

Graverobber held out his bone-white hand "The money."  
The sickly man grunted and pulled the cash from his pocket, shoving it into the Z-dealers palm.

Graverobbers hand returned to the coat and the addict saw a glimpse of rows of Zydrate vials hidden inside. His eyes widened as the dealers hand came back into view with just one of them, full of the beautiful blue drug. He grabbed the vial gratefully before his eyes returned to the dark interior of the coat and his tongue darted out over dry cracked lips.

"Have fun." Graverobber said as he turned away , heading towards the neon lights of the nearby streets.

"Wait!" The junkie croaked. Graverobber ignored him, his mind already on the next sale.

The withered young man growled and pulled a small but vicious knife from his pocket. Graverobber heard the growl and the following footsteps and as he turned around the addict barreled into him, the blade burying itself in his chest. The two tumbled to the ground, Graverobber screaming in agony. The addict drew the knife back and stabbed, twice, three times, four, blood flying with each thrust. The fifth strike was the last as the man threw open his victims coat, ripped it from his body. He giggled hysterically as he saw the two-dozen vials of Zydrate inside. He stood up on shaking legs and ran further into the darkness, the bloody coat trailing behind him like a victory flag. Graverobber wheezed, spat out a thick ribbon of almost-black blood. He slowly rolled onto his stomach, yelping with pain as his wounds touched the ground. He gripped the cold brick wall with one hand and tortuously pulled himself to his feet, limping for the neon lights, knees buckling with every step. The red and green blaze at the end of the alley blurred before his eyes and he felt a sickening cold rushing through him, robbing his muscles of all energy. His hand slipped from the wall and he collapsed to the ground once again, only yards away from the street. The blood pooled around him as he gave one last scream, the pained yell ending in a wet rattle.

Less than a week later the pale young criminal was back on the streets. He had no memory of the first couple days, just a blur of contracts and chemicals and the attentions of the Genterns. When he had truly woken some time later he took note of two things, firstly his new collection of livid scars, secondly that he was well and truly fucked. For someone who couldn't think two seconds past his next hit of Z, his attacker had surprisingly good aim. Graverobber had suffered terminal damage to his left lung, heart, and lower intestine. While he had been pumped full of the stuff he usually preferred to peddle, GeneCo had replaced all three. He had 90 days to pay more money that he could get his hands on in a decade. Slinging Zydrate paid well but it didn't pay that well. 90 days delinquent, then the company would take back their property with a scalpel and their bare hands and all the Zydrate in the world wouldn't help him then...

**Day 12**

Johnny Margolis woke up on his sofa just as the last of the Z left his system. He had been good, some people would've shot up all thirteen vials in a night and died choking on their own guts like morons, not Johnny. He still had five left, five shiny blue vials lined up on the table next to his Zydrate gun. He giggled lazily and took one in his hand, kissing the top. That would be the next hit, maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow morning. He rolled off the sofa, joints popping as he stood up. He still felt the teasing numbness in his head, just a shadow of his last high. He stretched and made his way to the bathroom. If his head had been clearer he would have heard the click and whine of a Zydrate vial entering the gun like a battery. He would have heard the soft footsteps behind him as he stepped up to the toilet. He certainly heard the whispered "Hello, Margolis" behind his ear and felt the gun press against his neck. Before he could raise his hands, Graverobber pulled the trigger and emptied the vial right into Johnnies system with a flurry of sparks. He fell backwards, quivering and groaning as the drug hit his brain, and Graverobber caught him, dragging him back to the sofa and throwing him down.  
"Wha's..." Johnny slurred, before he caught sight of his attackers face "No, no, pleasssee..."

"Surprised to see me?" Graverobber said, reaching for another vial "I was surprised to, I thought my story was well and truly finished thanks to you. It turns out that it's hard to keep someone dead these days." He slid the vial into place

_whiirrrr... click_

Johnny tried to speak but could only make a soft sobbing sound.

"How are you enjoying my stash, Margolis?" Graverobber asked, crouching down by the sofa and pushing the pointed barrel of the gun into the centre of Johnnies bare chest "Was it worth the effort?"  
Johnny fought the icy numbness spreading through his body and brain and tried to plead with his eyes.

"Here's the deal Johnny... Because of you and your greed" Graverobber spat the word through gritted teeth and pulled the trigger, sending another vial into Johnnies bloodstream "I only have 78 days until the Repo Man comes for me. 7-8." He turned his head and took another vial between his gloved fingers "I came here to get my supply back but then I thought 'what's the point?'"

_whiirrrr... click_

"Even in this town there aren't enough graves to pay back what I owe GeneCo." He held the gun to Johnnies bicep "Because of you." A third hit sent Johnny further into his stupor, his eyes rolling back into his head.  
"Oh don't worry Johnny, I'm not gonna give you every one of these." Graverobber chuckled softly and held up the second-to-last vial "This ones for me." he slipped it into his pocket "I need it now, to keep the pain away." He kissed the final vial and placed it in the gun where it belonged.

_whiirrrr... click_

"I guess that's irony, I get to finally feel how the trash like you feels." he forced his fingers into Johnnies drooling mouth, prying his jaw open, grabbing his tongue and pressing the needle against it. Johnny was still concious enough to make a high keening sound, begging for mercy in the only way he could "Because of you"  
Johnnies mouth shone for a moment with sparks and he let out a choked scream even as Graverobber pushed his head down into the threadbare material of the sofa and stood up, pocketing the empty gun.  
"Have fun Margolis." He sighed as he walked towards the door "I'll see you in 78 days."

As he closed the door behind him he heard the sound of Johnny Margolis' retching and a hideous wet screech. He smiled to himself, running his fingers over the gun in his pocket. He had no illusions about somehow escaping the clutches of the Repo Men. He'd seen the recordings of them in action, seen the bodies that they left behind. When it comes to GeneCo, all debts are paid. He'd still try of course. Everyone runs in the end, even the toughest son of a bitch runs when they catch sight of the Butcher, or the Bloody Gentleman, or even the new Repo Man there'd been so many rumours about, the Night Surgeon. Graverobber couldn't help but wonder which would be the one to take back those organs that were only his for a short time.  
"7-8." He murmured as he stepped out onto the street. There was a yell and the sound of a window smashing from the apartment block opposite and two Z-whores strutted past, their heels clicking on the rain-slick pavement.  
Graverobber, the dead man walking, laughed softly "Can't think of a better city to die horribly in."


End file.
